


the flu

by peterspajamas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Field Trip, Flash Thompson isn't a raging dick, Gen, Good Friend Ned Leeds, Influenza, Misunderstandings, My First Fanfic, Protective Tony Stark, Secret Identity, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Sweet Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Vomiting, academic decathlon - Freeform, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26682493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterspajamas/pseuds/peterspajamas
Summary: Peter gets the flu on the way to an Academic Decathlon meet and needs a pickup. Mr. Stark misunderstands the situation and goes in guns blazing.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 414
Collections: peter parker and his field trips





	the flu

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a little sickfic I have cooked up. warning for vomiting.

‘Ned,’ Peter whispered, too close to his best friends ear. He was listing forwards, blinking slow, then fast. Ned jumped. 

‘Peter? What is it?’ he whispered back. 

Peter swallowed, feeling his ears, cottony and fickle today, space out for a moment along with him. ‘Peter,’ Ned poked him gently. 

‘Right,’ Peter said. ‘I think I’m sick,’ he said. Ned took a closer look at him, sweat shiny forehead that rested above unfocused, glassy eyes and a cracked mouth. Peter knew he looked like shit. 

‘Yeah. Probably. You look pretty terrible. Can you even…’ Ned trailed off, glancing around, before he leaned back in to say what he was going to. Peter could guess, though.

‘Apparently, I can get sick. I think I might vomit if we keep getting bounced around like this,’ Peter said, resting his hot forehead on the window, foggy from their early morning ride. The school bus jolted again, and Peter heaved. 

‘Shit!’ Ned whisper shouted. He looked wildly around, scrabbling for something. Peter cleared his throat, feeling snot slip around.

He took a deep breath, looking around the bus, blurring from his teary eyes. ‘I think I’m fine now,’ he said. 

Ned shook his head. ‘This is _bad,_ man. MJ is gonna be so pissed you have to miss the competition. So, so pissed.’ Peter wasn’t even listening, staring straight ahead into space. He couldn’t pay attention to anything.

Peter must have fallen asleep, because the next time he woke up, Ned was quiet. ‘Ned,’ he moaned, gripping his friend’s arm tight.

Ned saw his face, a study of misery, and paled. ‘Oh _no._ Mr. Harrington! Peter’s going to vomit!’ he shouted.

The bus’s cacophony of noise died down. ‘What?’ Betty asked, reedy notes of panic in her voice. 

Peter curled in on himself. He never wanted this to happen. Now everyone was going to freak out. MJ had a known fear of vomit, that hadn’t been known until Flash had gotten sick in the middle of Chemistry that one time. Flash wouldn’t help, either. He was already jumping up, swaying as the bus turned, to grab the trashcan sitting near the front of the bus.

Peter felt the sickening taste of vomit in his dry throat rising up. ‘Oh god,’ he said, clutching Ned’s arn tighter. Flash was back with the trash can. 

‘Take it,’ he said nervously, thrusting it towards Ned. Ned shoved it at Peter, scooting away.

Peter heaved, and he started to cry. Where was Ned? Why wasn’t he here? He squeezed his eyes shut as the slime of vomit traveled straight into the trashcan.

‘You okay, Peter?’ Ned asked when his throat was sore and he listed sideways. At least he wasn’t nauseous anymore. 

Ned came back to his side, prying the can from his hands and setting it gently against the seat. Peter whimpered, his voice foggy. Ned gingerly put his hand in Peter’s hair, letting him lean into Ned’s soft side. ‘It’s better now,’ he said, letting his eyes fall half closed. 

‘Okay, Peter. We’re almost there, so Mr. Harrington’s going to get you some fever reducers and ginger throat lozenges at the Walgreens. He and MJ are really mad, but she’s just going to glare at you when we’re back at school. Why don’t you get some water, now? Your bottle is right here,’ Ned said, uncapping the bottle and handing it to Peter.

He blinked twice, trying to get some feeling back in his face. The cool water was nice, his flushed warm skin needed it, and it got the nauseating taste of vomit out of his mouth. ‘Thanks, Ned,’ he said, rubbing at his achy arms. He felt like when he was back in sixth grade and he tried a cup of coffee for the first time, shivering and full of frenetic energy.

He tried to relax against Ned, but everything felt bad, with his senses halfway to pain, his hearing picking up things a mile away. He could smell a hot dog cart a block away, which made him feel sicker than he did before. 

Ned could tell, thank God for Ned, and he rubbed at Peter’s stomach. ‘Do you have anyone you can call?’ Mr. Harrington asked, looming over the pair. 

‘No. May’s at work until 8,’ Peter said quietly, wincing at his throat 

Mr. Harrington sighed. ‘Okay, Peter, that’s fine,’ he said, rubbing his temples and going back to the front of the bus. They turned into a parking lot of the school hosting the AcaDeca competition. 

‘You’re going to have to come in with us. Here, take these,’ Mr. Harrington said, handing the medicine to him, while trying to herd a group of kids into an orderly line, while they were bottlenecking to get off the bus that smelled like vomit. 

‘Bye, Peter. I guess I’ll see you in the audience,’ Ned said, petting him on the head and leaving behind his sweatshirt stained with vomit streaks behind on Peter’s lap. 

‘Bye.’ 

Mr. Harrington walked up to him. ‘Do you need help?’ he asked, annoyed.

‘No.’ He stood up on shaky legs, trying to brace against the fever and nausea.

‘Good. Okay, just sit in the audience, okay? We’re doing a practice round first, so Ned is going to check on you halfway through, before we start the real competition,’ Mr. Harrington said, leading him off the bus, into the group of students. MJ was firmly not looking at him and wincing. 

‘What’s wrong, MJ?’ he asked, teasingly. His voice was raspy, and he could feel the ginger lozenge slipping around. 

‘Nothing personal, Parker. I just _really_ hate vomit,’ she said, closing her eyes tightly. 

Flash laughed. ‘Damn, Parker. You look terrible. How high is your fever?’ he asked. 

Peter suddenly felt like a baby deer, his legs were shaking. He felt nausea rolling. The cereal he’d had for breakfast churned in his stomach, and he could suddenly feel Ned’s steady shoulder offering a bit of stability. ‘I dunno,’ he murmured, bending over and rubbing his stomach to the point of bruising. 

‘Are you gonna vomit again?’ Ned asked carefully. 

Peter tried to shake his head, he didn’t want to make a self fulfilling prophecy. He’d seen how that worked out for Lord Voldemort and Dumbledore. No thank you. 

But he could seriously feel the remnants of his breakfast rushing through his stomach, and all he could do was miserably nod. Ned extricated him from where he was leaning against Ned, leaving him to kneel on the ground so he could dry heave. 

‘Oh, ew,’ Betty said, and he could see Cindy making a face. MJ looked like she had caught whatever Peter had, she was wincing so much. 

‘Sorry,’ he cried, and he almost collapsed into the puddle of vomit, he began to sob so hard. Ned patted his back, scratching. 

He spit, and he just kept spitting to get the taste that was everywhere out of his mouth. ‘Sorry,’ he said again, and Ned pulled him up. He leaned on him again, crying pathetically. 

‘No,’ he said, clawing at his hot, clammy chest. 

‘Okay, Peter, come on, just lay down,’ Ned said, reassuring him. In the auditorium, he spread out across three chairs, covering his shivering body with Ned’s vomit stained sweatshirt. Everything felt a little fuzzy, like it was slower, even the muggy fever covering him in sweat and the nausea that hadn’t let up after he threw up. 

Eventually, he got to an uncomfortable half-sleep, another nap that choked him with its fuzzy grasp on reality. He wasn’t having any fever dreams, but it was uncomfortable. Hot. 

He woke up once the team was almost done with the practice round, muscles tight and aching. The most overwhelming, though, was his fever. The chairs under him were like furnaces, and he rolled towards different ones, which only made him nauseous. 

He felt tears spring to his eyes, boiling tears that kept burning him. He was burning everywhere. 

‘Hey, Peter,’ Ned said, suddenly next to him, and Peter looked at him with teary eyes. He doubled over again, dry heaving.

‘Hey, I’m calling Mr. Iron Man,’ Ned said, but Peter couldn’t seem to pay attention through his pathetic whimpers into the trashcan. Ned’s hand rubbed through his sweaty hair as he moaned, whining.

‘Peter needs you, Mr. Iron Man,’ Ned said into the phone. ‘Yeah. He keeps vomiting. Whoa, it isn’t too urgent, he doesn’t… well, I guess. It’s pretty bad. He’s going home? Yeah, sounds good.’ Peter would have normally been able to hear Mr. Stark’s voice from over the phone, but his senses seemed dull and tired. 

‘Okay, Peter, someone’s coming to pick you up. Sit tight, okay?’ Ned said. Peter nodded, furtively popping three fever reducers and rubbing his eyes. 

Less than a minute after Ned left, he vomited again. That time, he felt better. A little more refreshed, almost lucid, although, maybe he had felt the fever reducers take hold. He pushed the sweatshirts off of him, putting the cool cloth Ned had left behind on his forehead. He sat up, looking towards the stage, where his team was gathered. 

They started kicking ass, as usual. MJ just kept answering questions, and when everyone was floundering on a question about Einstein, Flash knew the answer. Then, a distinctive whirring sounded, and Peter blinked blearily, looking at the sky. 

The red lights of Iron Man flew into the auditorium, through the doors at the back. Someone screamed and he could hear a group of mothers break into panicked whispers. Mr. Stark didn’t do a single loop de loop, no showmanship at all, really, careening towards the stage. The teams dove for cover, Betty and Cindy putting their hands on their necks under the table like it was an earthquake drill. He looked around. Where was the danger? 

Mr. Stark landed right in front of Ned, who squeaked back. The faceplate flipped up, showing Tony’s panicked face. ‘Ned, Ned, you’re the one who called me. Where is he? Oh god, is he okay? I came as fast as I could, I brought medical supplies. You said he was vomiting? Does he have a concussion? Poisoned?’ Mr. Stark had stepped out of the suit by then, looking less than stellar in a pair of leggings and a half buttoned shirt. His hair was in disarray, and he looked as sick as Peter was with worry.

‘You mean Peter? He just has the flu, and May can’t come get him. I thought you’d send Happy… or something,’ Ned said, looking a little freaked out. MJ was shocked. She kept looking between Peter, sitting in the audience, and Mr. Stark. 

‘Oh. _Oh._ Oh my god, thank god, I was so worried,’ Tony said, looking closer to tears than he probably ever would in public. 

Suddenly, Ned shouted across the auditorium, a wide eyed look on his face. ‘Dude! _Tony Stark_ is helicopter parenting you!’ 

Mr. Stark looked caught between bristling at the exact choice of words and rushing to Peter, who he’d finally seen. He narrowed his eyes at Ned. ‘I am _not._ A helicopter parent. Don’t ever say that again.’ 

Ned swallowed, a look of pure awe on his face. ‘Okay!’ he squeaked. 

Tony whirled around, jogging down the steps to where Peter sat. ‘Hey, Mr. Stark,’ said Peter. Nausea boiled in his gut again, making a reappearance from earlier in the day, and he felt the clarity after he threw up start to dispel with a spike in his fever. He whimpered suddenly, eyes distractedly on the wall. 

He leaned into Tony’s cool hands brushing along his arms, almost falling into a hug as he felt shivers wrack his body yet again. 

‘Hey, Peter, let’s get you home,’ Tony murmured, pressing a kiss into his head. Peter vomited on his shoes.

**Author's Note:**

> does anyone know if there's a discord server or anything for the Spider-man fandom? Could you point me that way maybe? anyway, please comment and kudos!  
> if u liked this, I have more irondad works in my profile!


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